


here, have a few chunks of my soul

by skitty_titty (orphan_account)



Category: Original Work
Genre: i will put warnings at the beginning of each poem if need be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/skitty_titty
Summary: have you ever watched the window from the comfort of your bed, seeing the leaves fly from the trees or the birds slam into your window, making you jump despite you having watched them fly the whole five metres towards it?really, this introduction doesn't have any meaning; maybe except from the fact that nature is made to be appreciated, as are the seasons (well, they're nature too), as are the relationships you form as you fight your way out of the toes of tartarus.the introduction doesn't feel quite finished, but i suppose that is how it's supposed to be right now. i'll finish it when it needs to be (no one is quite complete anyway).





	1. the seasons left destroyed

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:   
>  -mentions of dying (very brief)  
> -heartbreak

i like to believe they are like summer -

warm, bright, bubbly;  
they're eternal happiness and long walks on the beach (i enjoy sunsets, too)  
their hair coils like a snake, like the ones i found in my garden as i watered the apple trees.  
you surprise me as often as you can,  
just like how a tourist feels about the ugly weather,  
just like how there’s clearly a little bit of angel in you.

i often ponder if she is like autumn -

cool, fun, dying;  
you’re long but comfortable silences, with me pressed up against your side as you play with my hair.  
your eyes sparkle like diamonds, with an unseen happiness, but only on occasion.  
other times they’re dull, empty, and my heart yearns for something so easily looked over.

maybe, just maybe, you are winter -

cold, harsh, judging.  
you’re not quick to anger, but once enraged, you’re a snow storm.  
you fight for what you believe in, and don’t trust easily.  
i wonder who hurt you, but i know; three AM talks really do bring people closer, don’t they?  
i’m sorry, i never meant for it to be like this.  
you’re not winter, and you never could be. i’ve seen you talk to people who have hurt you, after all.

 

 _(and spring; are you spring?_  
_no. no, not you._  
_spring is the girl who came and went,_  
_the girl who left your heart in pieces,_  
_and left you to scrape it off the floor._  
_i only wish i could be of more help,_  
_you deserve the world, though, angel;  
_ _you deserve so much more)_


	2. travel through time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -food mention   
>  -isolation  
> -self hate  
> -depression

what time is it, mr wolf?

 

it is seven AM - with my alarm blaring a song that i have learnt to hate. 

waking up isn’t the bad part, 

but being forced to get up, to eat, to get dressed, and to start a mind numbing day of education really drags you down.

i snuggle into the covers for just another second, just another minute -

anything to hinder the mindless movements that i know will come

as soon as i leave my safe burrito of warmth.

 

it is eleven AM, and the clock is ticking by.

is it dinner time yet? is it hometime yet? is it time to sleep yet?

 

it is one PM, and i’m sitting with friends.

there’s pasta with some variety of cake (it’s always poorly baked, crumbling in your hands, but it’s alright - everything always is).

there’s six of us, sometimes seven,

and i feel so alone,

in the sea of people, 

who i wonder whether i can even call friends.

 

it is five PM.

my plants are watered, the only thing i have as a routine, really.

they’re all named, too, and it seems to be the only thing that puts a smile on my face.

music is playing, the same tunes that i’ve already listened to - another boring playlist on repeat.

i’ve gotten into comfy clothes, i’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth and eaten again,

i’ve prepared myself, in every way possible, just to feel anything but sadness

but it doesn’t work like that, i think

as i lie in the soft quilts that manage to itch my skin

as i look up at the swirling ceiling, wondering if i’ll ever be okay.

 

now, as the owls cry and the moon dances across the sky, 

the clock strikes eleven.

there’s but wisps of a cloud floating, as i breathe in the fresh air of the countryside

(for once, it doesn’t smell like shit)

deep breath in - you’ll be okay

deep breath out - that’s what they all say, yet we’re all still suffering

in; god, i’m so alone, i just want someone to hold be, please, touch me, hug me, stroke my hair

out; no one wants to do that, you’re an abomination, you’re a freak, you don’t deserve to be loved

 

the day is over, and i am sleeping.

i wish i could remain like this forever.


	3. what are you doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -mentions of supernatural creatures (ghosts, genies, ghouls)   
>  -talks of depression  
> -"fourth wall break" (addresses reader)  
> -smoking

“what are you doing?”  
  
it’s a loaded question - one that sends anxiety running down your spine when a police car drives past, or you’re at an airport, with the security guards’ soulless eyes boring into your own pleading ones.  
  
it’s a loaded question - now? then? back when you were a child who didn’t know any better?  
  
it’s a loaded question - with a simple answer.  
  
“i’m making a jar full of stars.”  
  
and, of course, he gets the reply he was expecting: “why?”  
  
and, of course, he says his pre-planned answer: “why not?”  
  
they shrug, and he continues making stars.  
  
“i saw a story once,” he starts. “where this child had a dream-” the other nods, intruigued, blowing out the smoke of their dying cigarette, as the grey dances away and across the night sky, across the real stars- “it was a dream where something visited them - a ghost, if you will.”  
  
“ghosts aren’t real,” they say. puff, puff, puff, their cigarette wasting away.  
  
“in your world, perhaps,” he replies. there’s a new sound, one of paper being cut by steady hands and steady scissors. “the ghost told them to make a hundred stars. once they did, they would get their wish.”  
  
“genies grant wishes, not ghosts.”  
  
“in your world, perhaps.” he has no time for close-minded folk. “they were depressed - such a young soul affected by such an old disease. they wished to be happy.”  
  
“and?”  
  
“and what?”  
  
“did they become happy?”

"that's for you to find the conclusion to."

  
  
  
  
happiness is not something a genie or a ghost or ghoul can give. it comes to you, and it leaves.   
  
people can share happiness with you, and they can take happiness from you, too. you can be happy in the dullest times, and sad in the brightest. you may hear people say ‘you are only as happy as you allow yourself to be’, and yet, i find that is not true either.  
  
i wish to be happy. i wish to be free. i wish i wasn’t plagued by constant doubt, constant insecurities, constant pain,  
  
but wishing has never gotten anyone anywhere.  
  
so i’ll teach myself to make a star; i’ll make two, i’ll make a hundred,  
  
and i’ll teach myself to be happy instead of wishing for it, until i’m not plagued by the saddest sorrow.


	4. tenses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -break ups  
> -talks about past relationships

tenses are weird - they hurt, if i want to be blunt (i do, god; i’m so tired of holding it in)

 

i am going to miss you:

it’s a light phrase, perhaps playful.

i will miss you once you have gone, but 

at least we’re together at the moment,

at least we still can say we have each other.

 

i missed you:

it’s the sound of rejoice,  _we are together again!_

i missed you but we are reunited, 

unstoppable,

i’d like to see you try tear us apart.

 

i miss you:

there are too many meanings for this one.

light and teasing, smiling down the phone;

truthful and honest, perhaps with tears, but still happy (maybe i should say ‘longing’)

and, then there’s me: painful and stinging.

 

i miss you,

even if i left you

even if it’s all my fault

even if i didn’t realise i loved you until it is too late.


	5. one among millions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -mentions unrequited love/longing

i want to write but i don’t know what to write about.

what is so important to me, for me to waste my words on?

nothing.

not really.

 

there’s nothing that makes me feel anything anymore, 

perhaps aside from sadness,

but we read poems of sadness,

of abandonment,

of longing and unrequited love,

and i refuse to be piled into the catagory of “yet another”.

 

my words may not be beautiful,

or flowery, or perfect,

but they hold feeling, often enough,

and they make me feel, sometimes,

which is enough for me.


	6. a sea of words; none of them relevant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -self-loathing (? - hints of it appear, i guess)

i read a story the other day -

well, i read a lot of stories

day in and day out, collecting new opinions and views, 

locking them inside the cage of my brain,

as my own way of travelling the world.

 

anyway, i read a story the other day

but i thought about it again, the day after,

the day after that,

today,

and it stuck with me.

 

it was the story of a poet, 

and a man infatuated with him.

the poet was a man who remained online, anonymous,

hidden by a computer screen,

and called himself by an abbreviation,

as many poets do - kind of like a disguise.

 

his name was a tongue rolling,

a hard, pronounced sound,

and once,

he went six weeks without saying anything;

called it a drought.

 

i thought about it,

thought about it some more.

sometimes, our brain is a vast desert that has words scattered randomly,

or maybe has no words at all, eliminated instead of destroyed.

other times, our brain is a vast paradise,

which sounds perfect, but

can be too much for the people who aren’t quite used to 

chaos.

 

he had a drought,

people missed him,

missed his words,

his message;

often, i wonder whether i would be missed.

is my poetry as nice as it looks?

is my poetry as nice as i think it sounds?

 

words on paper, taken from a desert;

words on the line, taken from a paradise;

words are words, often with meaning,

and yet, this poem is simply meaningless.

 

i’m just curious, 

as to whether i’m the one without any meaning,

as to whether i’m the one who rambles, 

and whether i'm the one you wish learnt to shut up.


	7. please help me my soul aches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -loneliness

i want to leave

 

except it is cold,

as the window howls through

the too big too small gap in my window

 

except i am alone,

and will only get more lonely,

but now that i think about it

that’s something i deserve

 

i want to leave

but i won’t.

i want to leave constantly

but i never do.


	8. glory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -depression  
> -self hatred (? - hinted)

the thing that no one talks about with depression

is that you’re numb,

dead,

feel nothing, despite

how hard you try.

 

my favourite song is playing,

familiar chords, with a familiar chorus,

but i sigh,

nothing in me stirring,

i do not dance,

nor do i sing;

 

i am empty.

it is what it is.

i have come to accept

what has become of me.


	9. white - the colour of purity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings apply

we've had our ups and downs:

once, i tasted you,

and you left a sick aftertaste in my mouth -

like mould, clinging to my scarred cheeks.

 

i continued with you, though,

and i gradually fell more in love.

 

i crave you often, 

sometimes,

 i can have you and sometimes i can not.

i know the pain or two o'clock withdrawals - 

both at night and at noon.

 

and i shall continue to love you,

until my stomach is empty, 

and my milky moustache has been washed away.


	10. pulvis et umbra sumus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -death ment.  
> -talks of hell

gods really are fickle things.

when i say ‘god’, what do you think?

 

some see bright flashing lights,

dancing, 

singing,

happiness,

with coloured powders and

pretty dresses.

 

others see strength and

wisdom;

love and 

war.

 

some see hell, 

haunting them,

following them with beady eyes

and an inhuman grin that stretches to their ears.

 

i think of being cold but burning at the same time.

i think of loving so much that you’re going to explode.

i think of hating someone so much that you feel it buzzing in your fingers.

 

i think of them dying, an explosion; 

one last beam of light,

before eternal dark.

at least, they had each other,

before they were gone.


	11. h

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -depression

brown is the colour

of home,

of hearth,

of Hestia. 

 

brown is warm [eyes](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DTsybPJfD3ZM&t=MzNmNmRlMjhmZGY0ZDc4MGQ5MGNjNjA4MzJkYjJkM2RjMGM1YmY2NCxPV1I3S1Z2Tg%3D%3D&b=t%3AslomViuSauqAcpazd7jGlQ&p=https%3A%2F%2F93myn.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173457089301%2Fbrown-is-the-colour-of-home-of-hearth-of&m=1),

of curtains being blown by the breeze 

through an open window,

of trees, who shield you from the cold.

 

but grey is empty.

sad.

a sarcasm to hide the rotting deep inside.

 

grey is an empty background, or a loading screen,

with a circle spinning and spinning, like a never-ending ferris wheel.

 

grey is the colour people associate with boredom,

a blank school’s wall that you zone out on, because nothing matters anymore.

 

the colours clash, and for good reason.

loneliness will never find a home.


	12. i lost you all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -loneliness  
> 

why does the world feel so empty?

it’s dark outside, but the birds are still chirping. it’s dark outside, but my parents are still laughing and smiling at the comedy show they’re watching on netflix, the floor below me. it’s dark outside, and the dogs are sleeping peacefully, cuddled up together, sharing warmth under a blanket.

it’s dark outside, and all i feel is numbness. 

it’s dark outside, and all i feel is reget (for oversharing), fear (for what’s to come), sick (from impulsive decisions), angry (oh, god, why did you leave me?).

there’s a streetlamp shining, standing tall and proud on the pathway, the only one working in my area. sometimes it flickers, sometimes it turns off before it’s fully light outside, but it stands tall and does its job. 

christmas lights twinkle behind it, glowing sparkling silver and glimmering gold. everyone loves the holidays, as it’s time to be with your family and friends, sharing happiness between you all, with gifts and food and bottles of wine.

but, for me, it’s dark outside, so very dark.

there’s a broken streetlamp, that’s been broken for as long as i can remember. there’s a lone tree in someone’s garden, completely undecorated. there’s no sign of life in me, no laugh or smiles, no partner to cuddle up with.

it’s so lonely, and it’s so dark. 

_why do i feel this way?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know why i feel this way.


	13. please select one (1) option

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -depression   
>  -wanting to die   
>  -self-loathing  
> -criticism of god (?)  
> 

i hate:

a)  _feeling_. it’s so hard to work, to live, to exist when your feelings are hurt, or when the feelings are barely there at all. everything’s numb or everything’s painful; there’s nothing in between. it burns in my brain and my heart, and it travels down my spine, along my limbs, reaching to the very end of my shaking fingertips and curling toes. everywhere aches, and it’s not something medication could fix. it’s too much. i just want to die.

b)  _myself_. and perhaps, that’s where everything stemmed from. the fact that i hate myself. it’s the way i see myself in the mirror, the way i mock everything i say in my head after i’ve said it, the way i act and the way i don’t act. i hate it all, but hating myself is the biggest issue.

c)  _life_. the god who is too fair and not fair at all.

d)  _expectations_. but mainly the ones forced upon you since birth. do you have a boyfriend yet? do you have any plans for the future? what do you want to be when you’re an adult? when are you having kids? how are you going to serve our economy? how are you going to forward our technology, or discover new land, or raise a new breed of dog? 

none of it matters. none at all, and no one seems to understand that. but it’s how i feel, over the constant emptiness, as i wonder “why?”. why do we need to have children? why do we need a partner, or to know where your life is going? we should be here to have fun, not be slaves to the rich who crave more money. 

we should invent ourselves, create who we want to be, and you’re not helping; in fact, you’re making it worse.


	14. q&a

_Question_ : Do you think that the kind of love you read in the book is realistic?

 

 

 _Answer_ : no one feels love the same way.

and honestly, no one feels anything the same way.

sadness, to me, is the numb feeling, a constant thought or decision humming in the back of your mind - its presence feels normal, now, and it’d be weird without it. 

happiness, to me, is my friends’ smiles; a couple laughing together, holding hands, leaning in to whisper something then place a kiss on their cheek; finding a book that feels like home.

love, to me, has only been painful. as my age has not even hit twenty, yet, i doubt i can say i’m truly experienced, especially as i’ve only dated one person who remained behind a screen, and no one has come close to my hands or my lips or my heart.

but yes. i do think that it could be realistic, in some universe, to someone. i see it in my friend who pines after her friend, saying she loves them at any given opportunity because she’d hate for them to forget. i see it in the strangers at the bus stop, who stare at each other, talking with their eyes brighter than stars, so enthralled in their conversation - bear in mind, they probably often talk - that they nearly miss their bus.

i believe it’s real; i just haven’t got there yet.


	15. assosiating numbers with people makes everything seem disconnected, less goddamn real; please. let me let you go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -abandonment issues  
> -religion ment.

i hate that i shared so much with you.

countless hours;

through days with a light, soft, sparkling smile,

and through nights with an aching heart, and empty eyes.

 _why did you leave?_  i will ask one day, and yet, i know the answer.

 _they just do_. you will reply, and yet, i will believe i deserve it,

as no one has ever proved otherwise.

 

one - three

you know things about me that no one else

has quite heard about,

or ever cared to listen to.

as i typed out the words from my heart,

with the tears rolling like train tracks down my face,

you smiled and listened

and replied ‘i’m sorry’,

which turned out to be the only thing you ever did.

 

two - fourteen

you.

we were not friends,

but not enemies,

a nice in between,

like a sort-of-friend but not someone you’d hang out with

outside of obligation.

we sung together, though,

as i sing with many,

as i try to make life bright and fun to 

ignore all the dark.

but you turned on me,

as if God had commanded it,

with a foul glare

and harsh words;

no longer would i sing that song.

 

three - twelve, sixteen, nineteen, whatever you want to be called

you never did any wrong,

but you were bright.

and perhaps,

my love resembled a puppy’s,

but it was still love,

i know that you became grieved and burdened,

and rightfully so,

even if i do not quite know all the painful details,

but i was, am, always will be sad, even if i do not deserve that right.

we stopped talking,

and the memories of your words - my God,

your beautiful words - left me struck,

plunging into my heart like a knife.

perhaps it is still wrong of me,

but i will think about you

until it hurts no longer,

until your name re-becomes a type of weather,

rather than a word that made me long 

for a whole season.

 

and four - another fourteen

you.

you do not deserve me.

forgive me, i may

be too harsh.

i wished to see you,

to hold you in my arms,

to sing;

you were so close,

closer than anyone else,

but you stopped - so sudden,

so harsh.

you stopped, fourteen, you Stopped,

which means you do not get

to walk right back over the bridge,

or navigate yourself through the twists

and goddamn turns that

you helped create.

you stopped, and that is your

and your fault alone.

you do not deserve my conversation.


	16. elle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -suicide ment.  
> -depression
> 
> you've been gone for five months.

honestly? what we had meant nothing,

not really.

we knew each other for how long,

a week? a week and a half?

that’s it.

that is it and then you left,

but this one didn’t hurt me.

you left to save yourself,

and the only thing i could feel in that moment was pride.

 

but still? we connected.

when i spoke to you, i felt

my soul ignite with a fire,

a passion, that i stole from you -

no. that you shared with me. 

we opened up quickly,

connected quickly, bonded

closer than family,

and quicker than i ever have 

done with anyone else.

you were special, to me, 

and yet, we had such little time together.

 

i don’t think about you often.

occasionally, i worry for you,

as you’ve been gone for so long,

and i wonder whether you did put a bullet in your skull;

but then i remember your soft aura,

so drenched in pain,

but with little saplings of hope hidden underneath all the pain.

and maybe i stole a few trees from you, 

but in the end,

i wished that you saw sunlight,

had rain but had it in a bearable capacity,

and had the love you so deserved. 

 

i don’t think about you very often,

until it is a night like this,

where i don’t quite feel alone or bored or numb,

but i’m a mere second away 

and i’m desperate to save myself.

i think about you when i am in need,

as you helped me and stuck with me,

even after you left.

 

you’re the only one for me.


	17. i'm sorry that i am the thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -dark thoughts  
> -insomnia ment.
> 
> i steal other people's experiences and make them feel like my own, so when someone asks me what the fuck is wrong with me, i have to answer 'nothing', because it was never really me that felt it anyway.
> 
> i never feel anything anymore.
> 
> that is all i am: a thief.

we didn't talk much today.

i was scared i was going to talk to you and everything would come out.

i hate making you worry.

and i know you'll see this eventually but

hey. at least, i'm not dealing with your reaction right now.

  
it hurts.

i don't know what, but it does.

my brain, my stomach, my fucking knees.

i wish i were normal.

i wish i weren't abnormal.

my mum sometimes laughs,

says i never followed the path society set for me, and

says it's a good thing.

 

  
being unique is a good thing.

 

  
but when i feel like an alien in my own body,

with dangerous thoughts and

even more worrisome hands,

i don't really feel very good.

 

 

stories impact you a lot.

 

  
and maybe, it's because i've always been empathetic,

always been able to feel other peoples' pain,

but when they're an insomniac,

i don't sleep for a week.

and when they're dying inside,  
  
i take everything i can from them, and

save them from it.

or, i would. but they're not real. but it doesn't work that way.

it's fine. everything's fine.

the only one hurting here is you.


	18. tear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -abandonment issues   
>  -choking?  
> -depression  
> -death/fire ment

i don’t know what i’d do if you left me. 

or, if i left you

(y’know, abandonment issues). 

i’d be fully alone, with an empty soul

and become an empty shell of a person,

trudging along in the mud that climbs up your ankles,

up your legs and knees and hips, 

and alone stops at your throat,

to choke you.

 

love is a choice

as well as a feeling.

yeah, i love you

sometimes - i guess.

it’s often too much,

but there’s nothing about you that’s

unlovable, except for

me.

 

i am the one dragging you down.

i am the one who’s obsession

with death and fire and fantasy,

and i am the one who 

will kill everything we built and

sacrificed for each other. you

are perfect. i am

imperfect, flawed, ruining you

in every single fucking way.

 

you are a goddess, perhaps

the Goddess of love - 

while i am a fucking rock,

or something.


	19. snow time, baby

“you’re like snow,

beautiful but cold.”

you don’t truly see her for

her, if you say things like this.

 

you’re like snow,

so delicate and soft 

in my warm hands,

that you cling onto after

waking up cold and

alone because i chose

to make you breakfast.

 

you’re like snow,

so pretty as you fall,

as i rush to catch you

because my hands will

always

be where you need them.

 

you’re like snow,

beautiful but cold

as your entire face is

fucking freezing from

making snow angels,

after i begged you with

eyes so sweet, holding

a stare you couldn’t 

turn away from. 


	20. we're all growing here, in this warm, soothing chillies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -grief ment.

you’re the warm one.

you’re the one that i come home

to, after a day with the garden’s

continuous gossip.

 _why won’t you talk to them_ , i ask.

i’ve forgotten how, you reply,

and there’s such pain in the words.

you could start with a simple  _‘hello’_.

after all, that’s how everything starts, 

really.

 

he’s the cold one.

y’know, the ice to your fire.

he’s not cruel, but

he says some things he doesn’t mean,

some things he doesn’t think about

until it’s too late, 

and the words are surrounding me with horror

or grief or a little bit of both.

but i love you both equally,

and i love him because he’s trying;

trying his best to be kind despite

the ghosts he can see,

haunting him.

 

i am the one in between.

perhaps i am a piece of a puzzle that has

been squished and forced to fit,

but it doesn’t feel like that;

when you both smile at me so sweetly,

and say my name as if it is the only thing keeping you

alive.

 

i am the ground,

where the plants grow from

and the water runs through.

i am the middle, and

that is perfect because

i’m surrounded by warmth, and 

there are so many hands against

my hardened skin.

 

and, for once,

i feel at home.

with you.

with him.

with me.


	21. no i don't feel better (have i been put on mute?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -religion ment.   
>  -suicide(?) ment.  
> -sex ment.  
> -caps

_“i love you.”_

 

no, you don’t.

  


if you did, you’d listen

to me when i warn you

of what can happen; i

know from experience,

God, why won’t you

believe me when i say

you’re killing yourself.

  


if you did, i wouldn’t

feel like i couldn’t talk

to you; you made me

feel scared, unsafe,

like the only thing i’m

useful for is venting

about sexual desires

or lamenting about how

you miss someone else,

who is never, ever

me.

 

if you did, i’d spend

all my time with you

without worrying about

being too clingy, or

too much;

but here’s the cold

truth: i am too much.

i am for everyone,

myself included.

  


my parents tell me to shut up,

stop talking about things that don’t interest us.

my friends laugh at me, an awkward glance at each other,

please be quiet - we don’t care, we don’t care, we don’t FUCKING CARE.

my best friend - my _you_ \- doesn’t say it but i can tell;

you want me to stop rambling as much as everyone else.

you’re just here to talk to me,

and i’m just here to listen.


	22. why are you mad?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -abuse ment (violence)   
>  -caps  
> 

i talk, and i talk,

and i talk, and i talk,

and i talk, and i talk, 

and and and and and and and

 

i guess it's useless to you.

 

you're not mad.

or annoyed.

well, maybe a little.

 

you didn't, like,

tell me to shut my mouth,

or that my words are boring and endless

and YOU NEED TO SHUT UP, accompanied

with a thrown glass.

it could be worse.

 

but fuck, am i weak;

am i weak for feeling like -

god, i can't even describe it - just,

am i weak?

for falling apart when you tell a joke,

about my mouth that won't stop running,

hinting at my brain which is falling apart.

 

you don't even know me;

we barely talk anymore.

so why does your criticism - your

criticism that isn't even criticism, 

just a joke, hurt me so fucking much.


	23. dope innit lads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm depressed and this is the only thing keeping me alive   
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BioOQK5ECUw
> 
>    
> warnings:  
> -burning/burnt skin  
> -normalising bad behaviours (hurting yourself)  
> -love for nAMjoon <3

haha. 

a laugh as you watch your finger tips burn;

your arms turn bright red;

aches dancing from your leg to your shoulder to your brain.

 

ah! 

something scared me.

but did it?

did it scare me, the one

who doesn't flinch even at pain 

because it has become what you've adjusted to,

a type of normal, in a strange way.

 

a breathy sound - one that can't be explained by words.

annoyance, maybe? perhaps, it's a strange laugh.

you never know, with the world twisting the way it does.

 

 

hmm?

eoseo wa!

bangtanEUN CHEOEUMIJI

you know, 

the usual.


	24. sappy ass shit

ok, so, like.

play me for the fool i am

because i'm talking to you and

i'm happier and sadder than ever.

 

i'm at my worst - 

you know, summer time

 _babey_ - 

but you're the comfort, the one i didn't have

last summer, as we

went our separate ways. 

 

god, i found you again.

i found you and this time

i'm so certain i'm never letting go.

 

you make me laugh.

you make me smile.

you make me dream,

and that's what i need

 

as i smile down at you,

you and your 5'4" ass,

and laugh as you tell 

a joke of the tip of your tongue,

something about the food you're cooking,

that smells so tasty i feel like i could eat it forever.

 

i don't know. 

i missed you,

and i still do, 

when we're apart,

but it hurts less;

 

the pain is from happy memories,

wishful thinking, perhaps a few dangerous day dreams,

rather than that harsh longing that scrapes away at your skull.

 


	25. sumthin 2 think of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> goodbye

i want to talk to you more but i know you're just another broken heart. a road that hasn't been walked down too many times, that is now overgrown and not worth fighting (but oh how i want to fight). 

talks with you are easy, smooth, but so harsh and jarring at the same time. sometimes, i'm afriad to speak out as if one false word and you'll vanish like smoke on a windy day. other times, i get to comfortable, and i speak out to receive an awkward silence; _hey, maybe you didn't see the message_ , or h _ey maybe you're busy_ , but it feels so terrible as the words hang there, blinking. 

i love you, comfortably, but so Uncomfortably, too, i'm not able to tell if we belong together or apart. you make me smile when no one else can, and i lay giddy as i think of you in my sleep. you make me scared to mess up, and want to change; both good and bad can be drawn from you, but i'm unsure which is my own insecurities and which is just how we are.

you won't see this. i don't expect answers. 

i want to explore the territory and become comfortable, but fuck it seems like a long ways away. 


End file.
